William Sitwell reviews Kushi-ya, Nottingham: ‘Heaven within the iron gates of hell’
Midday in Nottingham and it seems God has turned down the lights, saving his energy for Armageddon perhaps. I saunter from the railway station in the cloudy gloom, a ravaged place of boarded-up buildings and disused churches. A few signs of life remain in the dwindling retail landscape of vape shops, nail bars and places offering phone repairs and accessories. And they certainly know their audience: those who walk the streets universally do so in thick vape clouds, clutching phones with impeccable nails.
I reach a central square where a toothless man astride a stone lion yells an imperceptible chant; a contemptuous squawk. Up a steep lane and I spy a sign for my target, above an archway and bracketed by to let retail unit signs.
The prospect of lunch in this bleak setting seems dire. Through the arch, past iron gates, and there’s a lit passage, at the end of which the handsome brick-built and circular entrance to my quarry, Kushi-Ya, beckons.
Inside is a modern space of smoothed concrete floors, whitewashed walls and white tiling. What, in my mood on arrival, strikes me as public convenience chic.
There are steps down to the main restaurant – which is full – with sight of the kitchen through a large hatch at the far end. But I’m seated at a high table by the bar and, with the menu delivered and a swagger of polite confidence from the waiting staff, my fear and contempt draws swiftly to a close. Heaven, it seems possible, is within touching distance of those iron gates of hell.
For Kushi-Ya has experience under its belt. It began as a supper club, took lodgings in the pokey attic of a listed building before making its mark in this newer, much larger location. Now it’s a substantial Japanese place still run by Brits serving izakaya-style dishes, which means snacks and skewers, small plates, wine, sake and – there may have been others but I have space in my heart only for this – one fabulous pudding.
Modestly at your service I ordered for at least two and got started with that heavenly combo of crunchy shrimp crackers and a malty Japanese rice beer, Yeastie Boys Komé Biru. Then I had prawn toast which came as fabulously rich mini cylinders with a prawn deep within and drizzled with mayo and the like, but it had that back-door kitchen whiff of tired oil. Next were very decent, perfectly room temperature (no hint of fridge) slices of tuna with a soy sauce made creamy and rich with garlic.
A dish of chicken tsukune (think minced koftas) was a revelation of soft meat smoothed on to skewers and with an egg yolk you poked and used as a dip. This was cooking of great ability and skill; a real knowledge of the culture.
Then came the greatest dish, a lavish mix of flavour-bomb and wit. A prawn katsu sando, a creation that would sweep the board, year after year, at the global Fish Finger Sandwich of the Year Awards. Indeed it’s the most vital visitor attraction in Nottingham, more significant than Robin Hood. Soft bread, crunchy lettuce, spiced Marie Rose sauce and soft juicy prawns.
The roar of imagined crowds continued as I munched delicious skewers of tender beef and of refreshing courgette (showered in Parmesan) and – a meal in itself – pork shoulder which you assemble in a lettuce leaf and add condiments.
The mouth-watering wit returned with pud: “tira-miso”, which, honestly, knocks any Italian number out of the park. Rich and fluffy, it has everything a great tiramisu might but with the miso giving it the subtlest hint of saltiness. Kushi-Ya is nothing less than the saviour of Nottingham.